Words That Cannot Be Unsaid
by queenofowls
Summary: Flayn going missing has done a number on Seteth. He cannot control his heart, much less his tongue. And uncontrolled words wielded without tact are nothing short of knives. [Seteth/f!Byleth]
1. Chapter 1

**"_Don't_ touch me, Professor."**

He will never forget her expression. Eyes wide. That sharp intake of breath and the step back she took. How her voice shook like vibrating steel, strength and weakness intertwined.

She only meant to comfort him when she approached, but... but... _how could he take comfort?_ Flayn is missing. His only daughter. All of his efforts to shield and protect her, and this is the result. He is beside himself, the loud uncontrollable weeping that overtakes him in the night dutifully ignored by Hanneman and Manuela, even as they gave him pitying looks.

So... how else was he supposed to take it when Byleth came to him in the night, her gentle fingers trying to stroke and calm the angry storm that blazed through his soul?

He knows already.

He ought to have controlled himself. Taken her touches, thanked her politely, and closed himself off from the world as he wished to, disappearing back into the wilderness from which he and his daughter had come.

Alone.

Another part of him whispers the word '_or_'.

_Or you could have been taken the comfort._ But he knows that at the time, it was not an option. When she reached out to him that night, his heart felt so... so _raw_, as though there were no skin and bones to protect it. He couldn't bear to feel the balm of comforting words-or any words at all for that matter, whatever they would be.

It was in this mindset that, unrestrained, they rolled off his tongue, the words he could not unsay, no matter how he wished. Sharp and piercing, hissed with diluted irises, flared nostrils and clenched teeth. And the blame! Oh, how he had blamed her.

"Perhaps if I had not been... been _distracted_, I would have been alert to this Death Knight's presence. Had you not kissed me, had these trysts not begun, perhaps Flayn would be with us now." A second knife, slipped between her ribs. If she had cried, or gotten angry with him, perhaps his guilt would have come more quickly. But instead, she merely looked at him with those passive yet piercing eyes and said with quiet dignity a phrase that haunts him even now.

"_You_ called to _me_, Seteth."

And then she turned and left.

The words haunt him worse than most because she is correct. True, she kissed him that first time, but... he is the one who did not reprimand her to keep her distance. He is the one who called her into her office. He is the one who kissed her that second time. Who asked for her the third. Who embraced her the sixth and the sixteenth. He cannot even recall how many times he found ways to summon her so that he could once again taste her lips in secret, how many times he has been distracted by the imaginings of his own foolish desire.

And now he blamed her because... he was angry, not at her, but himself.

He is a fool. The greatest of fools.

The door of his office swings open, slow and steady-and for a moment, a trickle of something like hope and yet not unlike fear slips along his spine. With his own searches taking place, he has not seen her for days. Has not apologized to her for weeks. And yet... his heart says her name.

_Byleth?_

He looks up from his pacing.

He is wrong. It is Rhea.

An emotion he can't name fills his heart. If Rhea is here, then... his mind immediately grasps on the worse, but her words are direct and without suspense. "Flayn has been found."

His heart is flying, the relief in his stomach rushing in so quickly that he feels as though he will vomit. Seteth grips the edge of the desk behind him, knees suddenly weak. He cannot keep the emotion out of his voice.

"Is she... how is..." The words cannot come. He can only hope them desperately. _Please say she is alright._

"Uninjured, thankfully." Rhea comes into his office, shutting the door behind her. "She seems to have been found by Jeralt's child. Once again..." She speaks quietly, distantly. "It seems Mother has deemed to reward us." Seteth nods distantly as Rhea takes his hand. "I told you that you ought not fear. Mother gave her life to protect her people. She watches over us, even now. I am... certain of it."

He means to keep his composure, but the mention of Sothis drowns him in emotion-that distant war that lead to the deaths of so many he held dear. His precious creator, his friends, his parents, his wife and... had almost claimed his child as well. A choked sob manages to squeeze itself out of his chest. When Rhea opens her arms, he finds himself in them, weeping into her shoulder.

"Cry if you must, Cichon." Rhea's voice is steady as she embraces her old friend, hands gentle against his back. "We have lost much, but... I have faith that Mother is using the professor to lead us in the right direction to our salvation." _Why the professor in particular?_ He wants to ask her what she means but... there are more urgent things to address. When the emotions subside, his voice quivers with the feelings swirling deeply in his stomach.

"Take me to her. Please."

Rhea leads him to the door, more for support than because he is in need or has somehow forgotten where the infirmary is. The archbishop holds the door open, in part, Seteth imagines, so that he will not have to take an inconvenient moment to break it down altogether.

Unsurprisingly, when he enters the infirmary, he is not the only guest. Of course... of course she is there, too. Rhea stands in the doorway, her eyes lingering on the professor's back for a long moment before she disappears down the hall.

Alone-or almost alone, as Flayn still rests here-he expects her to react somehow. Yet... when the door opens and shuts, she doesn't react at all. Not a stiffening of her back, not a turn of her head... there is nothing to imply that she is interested in his entry. Perhaps because she does not notice. Perhaps because she does notice, yet does not care.

She stands, still without turning, only pausing to stroke some hair from Flayn's sleeping face. It's a gesture he would've done, had he been in the room earlier.

"Thank you, Professor." She turns to face him, an immediate reply not forthcoming.

"It was my duty to find Flayn and return her, safe and sound."

Seteth is silent for a long moment as he waits and watches. He knows he shouldn't say them, but he boldly grasps the words, rolls them on his tongue, speaks them into the too-warm air.

"Just duty, professor?" He wishes it weren't, but his voice is undeniably hopeful. He wishes desperately that he could take his earlier, cutting words back. There is tension in the air between them, her dark gaze electric to his bones. It could be wishful thinking on his part, but... perhaps she feels it, too, her eyes dropping to the side for a moment before she speaks. Her voice is quiet, but firm.

"Just duty, Seteth." The formal reply chills him. Even so... it is not unwholly appropriate, considering the setting.

Seteth nods solemnly and tries not to wince. If only he had not spoken to her so. Then, perhaps, his reunion with Flayn would be filled with her body in his arms and frantic, joyous kisses attempting to touch her every bit of skin. Instead, he swallows past the lump in his throat to offer gracious, empty words instead of begging her forgiveness as he ought to.

"Then I am grateful your alliances lie with us."

He curses himself and his pride as Byleth gives him a brisk nod, then moves to leave. When she passes him... how he wishes to grasp her by the shoulder and pull her into his arms! How he wishes to hold her body close and take in the infernal scent of roses that he could not help but associate with the love she constantly showered upon him. To weep into her shoulder and kiss those very same tears away from the skin they landed upon.

But he does not.

It occurs to him that perhaps this is the last time he will ever see Byleth. Because... if monsters were willing to sneak their way into the monastery, then there is no guarantee of Flayn's safety. They ought to flee.

A twinge pinches him in the stomach. In another world, perhaps he would have asked for her to accompany them...

But if this is the last, then he ought to speak these feelings resting deeply in his chest.

"Byleth." She stops in the doorway, gives him hope. "I am... deeply sorry for what I said to you. I was cruel, and you did not deserve to be spoken to in that way. Please, I ask you... please forgive me."

"You are forgiven." This reply, strangely, comes quickly as Byleth turns swiftly to meet his gaze. They stare at each other, and Seteth is certainly that his breath stops. There is such... such _coolness_ in her gaze. It washes over him and douses the vague, foolish hopes budding in his chest. Seteth steps towards her tentatively with a hand outstretched, but as if she is already prepared, Byleth withdraws a step, perfectly synchronized with his reaching hand.

There is a warning in her eyes, a veritable knife against his throat. He freezes with his error. Forgive him, yes. He is forgiven. But...

But she will not suffer his touch again.

It is as he deserves, and yet... and yet...

"Your sister is waiting, Seteth." He hesitates for a long moment before dropping his hand, then his torso into a low bow. When he lifts his head, the doorway is empty.

Seteth stares into the hall, his fists clenched at his sides.

He is a fool. The greatest of fools.

A sound behind him reminds him suddenly of why he'd come. A quiet groan, stirring behind him. Seteth rushes to Flayn's side and takes a seat in the place of the professor.

"Fa... brother..." He is so relieved that he doesn't even scold her for her almost slip up.

"I am here, child." He wishes her could say 'my child', claim her aloud but he meets himself halfway by brushing her bangs out of her face, smoothing her hair to cover her ears, cover their heritage. His throat catches. Her mother's hair color. Her mother's eyes. Seteth strokes his daughter's hair and suddenly remembers the day of her birth so many thousands of years, thanking the stars that she is alright. He is unsure of what he would do if... if that were not the case. "How are you feeling?"

She yawns quietly. "Sleepy." He chuckles, and tears cloud his vision again. "And disappointed."

His eyebrows furrow. "Disappointed, Flayn?"

The spring green of Flayn's eyes is bright and piercing. "The professor." Seteth pauses before letting out a sigh, his hand slipping down his daughter's arms to grasp her hand gently, stroking the back of it with light fingers.

"Don't you worry about the professor." _Where we're going, you'll never see her again, anyway._ Flayn's eyes search Seteth's.

"I like it here, brother. I don't wish to run away once again."

"But it is not safe, not anymore." He shakes his head. "And we would not be running away. We would be protecting ourselves. If Byleth had not found you... if you were hurt in someway-"

"All the more reason to _stay_, brother. Listen to me-" She stops, squeezing her eyes shut in a yawn.

"You need rest, Flayn."

She nods idly in agreement. "I will sleep, brother. I promise. But..." Her eyelids flutter open for a moment. "The professor is good to us. Don't push her away." _Too late._ Regret sits heavy on his tongue, but he simply strokes Flayn's cheek in reply and watches her drift away to regain her strength.


	2. Chapter 2

_If I speak to Rhea this very evening, I can make the preparations and be across the mountain range before the sun rises on this hour tomorrow._ If Flayn is well enough to travel, that is. He thinks the thoughts as his finger run along the shelves of his office, selecting books that would be useful to their survival. This one on edible herbs and berries, that one on useful phrases in the Almyran language... even a guide on Brigid culture, should they need to disappear there. The pile on his desk of potential literary aids has grown extensively since he began combing his library.

As soon as he is ready, he will speak with Rhea and as soon as he is permitted, they will depart. He is ready to go. Almost... ready, that is.

As loathe as he is to admit it, Seteth is unable to leave without saying goodbye to a certain professor. He has already sent for her, but... the uncertainty he feels that Byleth will answer his summons permeates his preparation time with bitterness. And then... her silent appearance in his doorway sends his heart soaring even as he feigns calm.

"Seteth?" Her voice is guarded as she enters his office, eying him warily.

"Please, close the door." Byleth glances at it, then looks at him, unmoving. '**No.'** She doesn't say as much, but she folds her arms and eyes him with an unreadable stare.

The door remains open.

_Ah..._ Perhaps she is afraid that he will cut her with his tongue again. Perhaps she is right to fear such. He winces at the idea that he is the one responsible again for whatever unpleasant feelings she holds close to her heart, because he certainly cannot read them.

No matter. He is merely there to express his gratitude once more for delivering Flayn back to him safely, as well as to say goodbye. If they are to go into hiding, then he wants to do so with proper salutations and... he would never admit it to himself, but there is the smallest but ever present portion of his heart that irrationally hopes that she will tell him that she does not wish for him to go.

He bows low and forces his lips into a smile.

"Professor... Please allow me to express my eternal gratitude once more. Flayn is safe and sound, and I have you to thank for that. Mere words could never express how thankful I am. I..." His throat closes for a moment. Even in the clouds of their complexities, he is most sincere in this. The thought of Flayn's face at rest in the infirmary, so similar to how he has seen her each night before bed, soothes his heart. "I am indebted to you." He wonders to himself how he will repay that debt from afar, but in reality, it is not a question. All Rhea need do is say the word, and he will return to her side for aid.

If she would have him.

...He cannot imagine a time when she would have him.

He barely hears her reply, instead fixating on the way she relaxes from the earlier awkwardness the more he speaks of Flayn. She is all business now. Business and glory, he thinks, as he looks at the luster in her dark hair, the slenderness of his wrists, the weight in her hips. He feels guilty for thinking of her this way even now.

How he wishes she would... would...

Would what?

He clears his throat and tries to clear his frazzled mind as Byleth's stare turns perplexed.

"But why was Flayn taken to begin with?"

Of course she would ask. And... and he will answer.

To imagine, the famed Death Knight was hiding as a teacher at the academy. The irony is not lost on him. For all of his suspicions of Byleth, it is all too clear to him that perhaps his past self must have been _much_ too focused on proving _Byleth_ the enemy entrusted with the lives of the students when in actuality...

He sighs. To be thousands of years old and yet still make such assumptions... Age truly does not produce wisdom.

He is distracted. "I believe the enemy may have been after Flayn's blood." That is the true purpose of this meeting, is it not? To tell Byleth what they will do. To conclude this tryst and give them the closure and comfort he hopes to receive at the end of it. Even if he is the only one who views it as something that needs to be ended more conclusively than Byleth stepping away from him when he tried to draw near. He winces at the memory. "If enemies who know the secrets of Flayn's blood have appeared, our only option is to..." He pauses, just for a moment, and wonders if she hears it in his voice, "...leave the monastery and go into hiding."

She says nothing. But... is his mind playing tricks on him? He wonders if he just imagined her chest stuttering for a moment. _Please_, he thinks.

And then, the selfish realization dawns on him. Seteth _wants_ Byleth to miss him. To need him. To _want_ him.

Such thoughts are cruel.

He is telling her that they will disappear, never to be seen again. He is not wholly unconvinced that it is not better that she hate him and _wants_ him to never return, yet...

Despite it being better, he... he cannot allow it. _Please think well of me._

"Brother, wait." Flayn's voice startles him. His daughter's voice is pleading. It is the same tone with which she spoke to him in the infirmary, and by the twinge in his chest, he has the sudden, dread-filled sensation that he will agree to whatever she says. "Even if we ran off to some new, secret location, there is no guarantee that they would not find us."

Even if he were not more inclined now to be swayed than most, Flayn is right. There _is_ no guarantee. Flayn pleads her case, even as his heart flutters fearfully in his chest at their lack of options. If he cannot protect her here... then where could they be safe? "What if I were to join the professor's class?"

_Of course._

His heart agrees even before he realizes what it means. He has, in some way, become like Rhea. He... trusts her with Flayn's life. With his own in most ways, even if he has not said as much directly. He has felt her fingertips trace the shape of his ears and never ask a question. She does not pry, nor does she take liberties. The professor has always accepted him as he is. Seteth lets out a breath he is unaware he has been holding in the first place, then looks Byleth in the eyes.

"After all that has happened," he murmurs, "I must admit that you are indeed..." He trails off. What is she to him, now? What could he call her that would not make her wrinkle her nose in disgust when she had been so faithful, and it is he who has acted as the betrayer? He finishes his sentence softly. "...indeed a trusted ally." There's a flash of something he cannot read in her eyes, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it. "So, what say you? Can I entrust you with Flayn's safety?"

He doesn't care to hear the answer. He already knows what she will do, regardless of what she will say.

After all, she has proven herself faithful time and again. It is he who...

Mentally, he doesn't complete the thought as he realizes that Flayn is yawning. "You ought to return to your room for rest, child."

"Don't worry, brother. I just... had a feeling I should come. I'm going back now. I'm sure you and the professor have many things to discuss."

When the door shuts behind her, Byleth tilts her head at him. "_Do_ we have many things to discuss?"

_Yes._

_No._

"I will not hold you here, if you do not wish to speak with me," he says finally.

"I'm not sure we have anything to talk about, Seteth. I told you, I forgive you."_ And yet_, he thinks, _you look at me with such distant eyes._

"I am certain that we do." He hopes that his voice does not sound as desperate as Flayn's did, moments ago. "_If_ the door behind you were closed, that is." There it is, in front of her. A challenge. She stares at him before shutting her eyes gently as if she is determining what she will do, perhaps even listening to some voice deep inside her heart.

He feels like he is waiting forever. Seteth feels willing to wait forever, if that is what it will take for her to have him.

Byleth takes a step towards him. Then another. When there is but a breath of space between him, his heart stutters in his chest with something not unlike fear. _Someone could see them._ She places her hand on his forearms-but even with the open door behind them, he cannot force himself to pull away. No matter how he tries, he is glued to the spot. The glue turns into cement as her nails brush along his skin as she brings her hands to grip the firm flesh above his elbows. For a delusional moment, he thinks that she will shake him-or even more delusional, that she will pull him forward and map the space between his lips with an angry tongue-but instead, her moist lips lean towards his ear, sending his heartbeat stuttering harder in his chest all the same.

He can swear he feels them brush against his earlobe.

He wishes they would brush along his neck, but somehow, this touch is certainly worse than he imagined because it sets his imagination on fire.

"There is nothing for us to say behind closed doors, Seteth. Not anymore. Do you understand?"

Rooted in place, he can only nod weakly in reply, paralyzed. He isn't sure he moves an inch, even after she leaves him there, leaned against his desk. Such is her power, and he... he should have known that he is too weak to withstand it.

He licks his dry lips and imagines her running her hands through his hair, the feeling of her grip on his forearms still lingering on his skin. If only she had shut the door. Her skin would have been embossed in apologies, pleasure-tipped sorrow touching upon her via lips coated in layers of regrets. His tongue would stroke apologies along the hollow of her neck. And his hands-he is uncertain of what his hands _wouldn't_ do, if she would allow him to take hold of her.

Seteth is suddenly aware of the fact that his thoughts are much more vivid than they should be. Specifically, if he is going to fantasize like this, his door ought to be closed.

He clears his throat and begins to to busy himself with returning his books back to their rightful place on his shelves. As he tries his best to distract himself, Seteth prays for a day when he will be worthy of her touch again and cannot for his life imagine one.


	3. Chapter 3

Seteth is a man of service.

True, as a high ranking official of the church there are times that formality deems him worthy to be given appropriate honor, but that aside, overall, Seteth thinks of himself as a servant of the greater good. And, on occasion, the... lesser good as well. Namely... now, as he scrubs the filth from out of the treads on the bottoms of Byleth's boots. He has given up long ago on trying to find _grand_ gestures to do that would make him worthy of her attentions.

As he has discovered, neither roses nor fish delivered to her door worked, and trying to discern her favorite meal also turned out to be a failure. Worse still, all of his attempts thus far have only inspired rumors that Byleth has a secret admirer.

Amongst the _student_ body.

Seteth is resigned to never recovering what they had in any realm of normalcy. Rather, he has settled on doing what he can to lighten the load of the professor in the slivers of leisure time he has left for the day. To what end, he isn't quite certain, but there is a small sense of satisfaction in the fantasies that persist, despite having nothing to feed them.

For example, Seteth wonders what she is thinking when she slips her feet into the shoes made shining by his own hands. Certainly, he thinks, unaware that he is the one who polishes them with the brisk, steady strokes of his brush, she would look down his handiwork with the soft eyes she once gazed upon him with. Once he finishes the work, he puts the polishing kit away in preparation for his monthly debriefing with the archbishop and the professor, sighing to himself as he washes away the muck coating his black stained fingers.

It's almost like a tale. A young soot-covered knave hoping desperately to be noticed by the princess despite having nothing more than hard work to his name.

Perhaps he ought to be the one to write it.

...Actually, he is certain that his station does not matter to Byleth. After he has misjudged her so severely, he is... more or less certain that it no longer matters to him as well. Placing the boots on the table in the candlelit glow of the night besides certain of her weapons he has polished, her sheets that he has laundered and the perfumed oil he knows she once eyed at the marketplace, Seteth tries not to think about how pathetic he has become as he shuts his office door behind him and hustles towards the Audience Chamber.

The moment his eyes light on the professor, he can hear her voice, feel her skin, sense her displeasure...

_'There is nothing for us to say behind closed doors, Seteth.'_

What words. What power in the lips that spoke them. He wonders if there is a reply that she was waiting for at the moment of their uttering and comes up curiously short.

"Greetings, Professor. Rhea." He nods briskly to acknowledge them both, and Goddess help him, those words are the only words he hears the entirety of their brief meeting, made briefer still by Rhea's worried glances in his direction. He isn't sure why she is so concerned about him. If anything, she should direct her anxieties towards Flayn as he has. Which reminds him.

_I should have a fishing tournament for her... That is certain to cheer her._

And before he knows it, it is another meeting concluded, another mission doled out and, although he stands in the same room as Byleth, right across from her, he can't help but feel as though he could not be further away. Byleth nods to in acknowledgement of Rhea's dismissal, turning away to leave the audience chamber. As she has since Flayn's return, she only looks at him when he speaks to her directly, a folly he attempts less and less.

At the very least, it provides him ample opportunity to gaze upon her uninterrupted. He is... uncomfortable with the number of times he has found his eyes straying towards her in the dining hall. Or during class, in the times he happens to pass by her classroom. Or throughout seminars, in the rare event she would attend his, seated far in the back of the classroom, taking notes and avoiding making eye contact. He would commend her for coming despite her obvious desire to be elsewhere and avoid him, except for the fact that he has had enough.

Today, of all days, will be different. He is certain of it. "Excuse me, Rhea. I just remembered an important detail that I've forgotten to mention." She kindly doesn't point out that he's said nothing the entire meeting, waving her hand with a dismissive smile as she returns to the advisory chamber.

As he departs in pursuit of the professor, he cannot help but wonder for a moment what it is that makes her so impossible for him to let go of. _All he wants really_, he tells himself, _is to reconcile._ But in reality... he ignores the fact that he wishes first and foremost for the chance to redeem himself in her eyes.

"Professor." She walks crisply, her heeled boots echoing in the hallway as she pretends she doesn't hear him. Seteth grimaces as he calls out again, tasting the lie before he says it. "Rhea has asked me to speak to you on an important detail. May I ask you to my office?"

She stops in place, then nods.

"Fine."

Seteth's heart sinks at the lack of emotion in her tone. _Is this what it was like when they first met?_ He presses his lips together and remembers the day he called her into his office to counsel her on volume and modulation in class. Perhaps now, it is more a slap than a memory.

At her reluctant reply, Seteth relents to relieve some of the pressure of guilt from his lie.

"We can meet in the library instead if it would make you more comfortable."

To his surprise, Byleth shakes her head. "I'm comfortable wherever you are." He knows she's just saying she's comfortable with meeting wherever he chooses but his chest stutters in a less than unpleasant way. If only she found comfort in the places he resided. He cannot help but to smile bitterly to himself. _How I wish that were so._

"Come, then. My office awaits."

"I'm surprised you agreed so readily." He speaks the sentence nervously as he opens the door to his office. "I appreciate it."

She barely spares him a glance as she steps through the door. He moves to follow her when he hears her make an unexpected sound.

Byleth gasps.

He enters her the office in hasty confusion, shutting the door behind him and- _Oh, no._ On his table, condemning him, are her boots he forgot to put away. Her freshly laundered sheets that he forgot to put away. The oil he purchased for her that he forgot to put away.

"What is this, Seteth?"

All of his secrets exposed into the air, that's what.

"I... that is..." The words tangle in his chest. There is no denying it.

"Why would you do all of this?"

He stares at her helplessly. In reality, he isn't sure himself. "I'm sorry, Byleth." He's said it before. He says it again. "I am very sorry." He steps in front of his desk protectively, as if to hide the items from her gaze. "I know you said you have forgiven me, but you cannot deny that you have not looked or spoken to me in the same way since... since the day Flayn was found." Byleth is quiet for a moment as her stare shifts to her carefully repaired boots on the edge of the table. Wearily, Seteth takes a seat, casting her a rueful glance. "Is this where we are, then?"

Byleth looks at him steadily, hugging her arms around her. "We weren't anywhere before, Seteth." He would beg to differ, but it knocks him down a few pegs to hear that she thinks so little of their former trysts. He cannot help himself, nor the hope in his voice.

"Weren't we, though?"

Byleth lifts an eyebrow, then lets out a sigh, seemingly choosing her words carefully. "When was that established, exactly?"

_When?_

He thought it was obvious. Even if their relationship had been a secret, it isn't as though he'd felt ashamed of her. It was merely their respective positions that made it necessary to conceal the nature of their union.

"Am I convenient to you, Seteth?"

"Convenient?" He blinks. Whatever is _that_ supposed to mean? Does she think he would press his skin to any woman who laid eyes or lips upon him? Does she think him so weak-handed? So loose hearted? He grimaces at the thought. "No, but you seem intent on impugning bad motive to me. Well, I will rise to the challenge."

There is fire in Byleth's eyes. Perhaps she is expecting him to try to cut her down with his words. How unfortunate, if so.

"Byleth, in some ways, you are correct." The silence is expected but... but oh, how he _relishes_ in the disarmed expression in her eyes. "I did not guard my tongue, perhaps because I took our relationship too lightly. But if you think for a moment that I will pretend that I valued it less because in some way I value _you_ less, then you are as much a fool as I." He frowns. "_If_ not greater."

Byleth doesn't reply, but for once, to his great satisfaction, he has the feeling that it's because she doesn't know what to say. Seteth goads her because he simply is just not that mature enough not to, regardless of how he tries. Regardless of how he shouldn't.

"Is your silence because you have nothing you wish to say to me, or because you still believe there is nothing left for us to say to each other?" Byleth stares at Seteth as he continues breezily. "The door is, after all, closed."

To his immense surprise, Byleth's expression... crumbles, her eyebrows joining with worry. Her voice is quiet. "What do you want from me, Seteth?" She backs away slightly. He notes now that she has not dropped her arms from around her torso. She is... protecting herself. From him? "Am I supposed to just understand that you think highly of me, then?" There is a quiet bitterness in her words that surprises him. "Most of my time at the monastery has been spent with you lecturing me on how I should be better in front of others, and then kissing me behind closed doors. How am I supposed to just... know what you really think of me or feel about me?"

_Oh._

It's the most he's ever heard her say at one time, and in that moment, Seteth realizes a crucial aspect of their relationship that he has missed all along. The deep, dark eyes that seemed to hold him in place and strip him bare... perhaps they conceal more than he first thought. He ought to have guessed as much-he _is_ older than her, after all-but he is so often caught up in her mystery that... well.

He may have underestimated the fact that his own old bones may still have some mystery of their own. He may have felt as though he is the pursued of the two of them but really... perhaps he has had more of a hand in this than he originally thought.

"I see." He folds his hands together. "In that case, allow me to... apologize. Again." _No_, he thinks._ This distance will not do._ He stands, crossing the room to meet her, face to face. "I am sorry for speaking to you so carelessly, Byleth, and for making you think I thought little of you. I thought it clear, but I will say this now... I would never make myself your enemy. Not when you have done so much for me. Not when you have done so much for Flayn."

Byleth, looking up at him with dark, glossy eyes... she seems mesmerized, almost, and for a moment, he wonders if perhaps she is just as entranced by his existence as he is hers.

_Impossible._

Ruefully, he banishes the thought.

Less ruefully, he props his arm against the wall above her, unable to stop himself from testing it out. She doesn't move, instead staring up at him. He doesn't move another inch, waiting to see what she will do.

"I accept your apology." He barely hears her, because his ears shut down completely at the sensation of her hands and face pressed against the fabric of his torso, as if waiting for an embrace. He resists for a moment. This would be the time to gently tell her that they must maintain a professional relationship. The time to say that perhaps it is best if they do not resume what they had before but-

_Oh, my._

_Oh, my my my._

He finds it difficult to say anything at all, the only sound in his ears his own heartbeat.

Seteth would be less surprised if having her body pressed against him would elicit the fantasies he is uncomfortably, but admittedly prone to, however... the only thought in his mind is how much he wants to hold her as well and how glad he is to finally be able to have her here in this space without feeling as though everything he touches will crumble away.

_This woman will turn to dust_, he tells himself. _The moment your heart is fully open, she will disappear in death as all the humans do._

Regardless of what his heart says, he cannot help but to tentatively stroke Byleth's hair, the dark strands slipping through his trembling fingers effortlessly.

It is not an embrace, and yet... Seteth wonders how he will keep such feelings locked in his heart.

...Not that it matters. In this regard, he cannot help but to detect immense, immediate failure in his future.


End file.
